


ghost in my house

by mostfamousestofhobbits



Series: romance without words [2]
Category: The Losers (Comic)
Genre: Day of the Dead, Drug Use, M/M, Psychotropic Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:43:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2543063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostfamousestofhobbits/pseuds/mostfamousestofhobbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>lsd on day of the dead, in mexico. what could go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	ghost in my house

**Author's Note:**

> again, no shift key for me. a special little dia de los muertos present. vaya con dios, angelitos.

11:59. ‘still technically am, so why not?’ he opened the little baggie with batman symbols on it and pulled out three little squares of paper. he absently scratched his goatee, then absently scratched the stubble around it. he forgot the last time he’d shaved. maybe a week ago. of course, his chin was the only reliable place for hair growth. the rest made him look like a mangy camel, according to—

fear? not the mind-killer. memories were. he shoved one of the squares back into the bag, then tossed it on the bedside table. the two remaining squares had smiley faces on them. ‘little yellow bastards.’ he pressed them to his tongue, and waited.

3:05. he managed to make it to the window. he pulled back the curtain and winced. decorations were going up. the bright reds and yellows and blacks (since when was black a bright color?) hurt his eyes. he let the curtain fall back into place. the dully white motel room spun while standing still. he shuffled over to the bed and lay down.

“well this was a bust.” he muttered. the door opened. he sat up. “the fuck do you think ‘do not disturb’ means? c’mon—“ it was cougar. his dead best friend was standing there in the doorway, plain as day, no bloody bullet holes, no stolen uniform. he was in jeans and that _the killers_ shirt jensen had gotten him years ago. he closed the door and walked over to the bed. they stared at each other for a while. cougar looked hesitant, scared almost. he was blurry around the edges.

“oh man…” jensen sat up and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. his hands dropped onto his lap as his eyes watered. “worst trip _ever._ ” cougar laughed. the sound boomed faintly in jensen’s ears. “s’not funny, man.”

“you’re the one who decided lsd on día de los muertos was a good idea,” cougar quipped. jensen’s jaw dropped. “but it let me come here, so i’m not complaining.” cougar sounded…happy. nervous. he was _talking_ in complete sentences.

“the fuck?” jensen managed. cougar climbed onto the bed, getting nose to nose with jensen. “what’re you-“ his warm lips sent a chill through jensen. cougar straddled him and kept kissing for a long, long time. jensen tried to kiss back, but cougar always pulled away. so he gave up and let the ghost kisses continue. he wanted to hold cougar more than anything, but his hands were on jensen’s forearms. he tried reaching up, but cougar pulled away again.

“i can touch you. you can’t touch me. there are rules if you want me to stay.” jensen’s eyes welled up. cougar’s voice sounded like it was coming from the back of his head. jensen swallowed, then nodded. the white wall behind cougar was streaked with different shades of white and gray. cougar was the only color in the room, vibrant browns blurring together. cougar cupped jensen’s face with callused fingers and kissed away the tears. his hat had fallen off. it lay there on the bed, misty yet solid. a stray sunbeam from the slit in the curtains caught it as cougar moved closer, and it turned translucent, the tan of the brim melting into the tan of the bedspread. cougar kept kissing him gently, more gently than jensen thought possible. he didn’t dare try to kiss back.

cougar’s hands slid up his shirt, behind his neck, his fingers toying with jensen’s ears and running through his hair. he often paused just to look in jensen’s eyes, brown staring into blue. he pushed jensen down onto the bed and lay there next to him. the room was still spinning while standing still. jensen glanced at the clock. 6:17. he could feel their chests rising and falling together. he frowned.

“dead people breathe?” cougar shook with laughter. “seriously though. the fuck d’you need oxygen for?” cougar snuggled in closer, his chin resting on jensen’s shoulder.

“what makes you think we breathe oxygen?” jensen rolled his eyes. they lay there for hours, just feeling each other. cougar grew warmer as time went on. the room grew darker, the shadows stretching and twirling like oil on a puddle. cougar suddenly sat up. jensen followed suit. his friend- no. not friend. he was like a cloud in a bottle, colors shifting and bleeding into each other. he turned and kissed jensen hard, shoving him into the wall. he bit jensen’s lower lip roughly and moved onto his neck. jensen started panting. it was too much. jensen sat up into a kiss and grabbed cougar’s head, pulling him in. his hair was amazingly soft. jensen’s hands were everywhere, shoulders, chest, back. he clung to cougar like a drowning man clings to flotsam, crying because he knew it was over. they pulled apart. cougar looked shocked and elated. jensen laughed.

“what, you thought it was only one way?” cougar smiled, his lean face relaxing. they grew serious. cougar scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, and reached for his hat.

“don’t-“ jensen’s voice cracked. cougar looked down, hat in hand. he reached out, cupped jensen’s chin with his hand, his warm, warm hand.

“vaya con díos, ángel,” he said, and pressed his lips to jensen’s forehead.

jensen sat bolt upright. he rubbed his eyes with his fingertips and looked up towards the door. he glimpsed a fading long ponytail, and the door closed. he stared at the door, then his eyes began to sting. he hung his head, and looked at the clock. 11:59. he coughed out a laugh.

“fairytales always end at midnight, huh?” he leaned forward on his knees, willing himself not to cry. something by his foot caught his eye.

it was the hat.


End file.
